Emerald Women
by Se acerca el invierno
Summary: Semi AU. The long raven locks reflected the sun all too brightly for Frollo's liking. With a gritted jaw, a curled fist and narrowed eyes, the Minister resisted the urge to rise from the chair. No, Claudette Frollo had earned the fear and respect of all the common folk of Paris, and she would not lose it over some succubus witch. Frollo / OC / Esmeralda


**Title:**

Emerald Women

 **Author:**

Se acerca el invierno

 **Genre:**

Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Spiritual, Tragedy, faint bits of Humor.

 **Timeframe:**

1400s - 1500s

 **Summary:**

Semi AU. The long raven locks, freely swinging at the breeze's mercy with each movement and turn the gypsy made in her equally entrancing and sinful dance, reflected the sun all too brightly for Frollo's liking. With a gritted jaw, a curled fist and narrowed eyes, the Minister resisted the urge to rise from the chair and storm into the Palace of Justice, but... No, Claudette Frollo had earned the fear and respect of all the common folk of Paris, and she would _not_ lose it over some succubus witch.

 **Rating:**

M — Just to be sure. Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 12-14

 **Warnings:**

This fanfiction will contain spoilers of both, the book and the movie.

This fanfiction will have little to no censorship. You may find some swearing, as well as mentions and occasional descriptions of taboo subjects, mainly sex, violence and gore.

This fanfiction contains an OC —original character—, so if you don't like that sort of characters, then this is definitely not your story.

 **Author's notes:**

Welcome everyone to my story! But before starting with the reading, I'd like to let you know a few things.

Firstly, my deepest apologies to my other readers; I've had quite an author's block with two of my other fics but, suddenly, the inspiration to write this piece came. Hopefully now that it's out of my head my mind will be able to focus on my two other delayed stories. Said inspiration came from listening to a female cover of the well-known _"Hellfire"_ Frollo sings in the Disney version; I'll leave the link at the end of the document so anyone interested can check it out. Beautiful version, just saying!

This will be an unconventional two-shot, due to the length and number of words of each part. Also, it will be based in both, the Disney movie and Victor Hugo's work. Claude Frollo, however, will be based nearly exclusively in the Disney depiction, since it suits better my idea. The semi AU is not due to my female OC being a genderbent version but an entirely new character that will interact with those canon.

Also, some of the historical facts I gathered in my research may be slightly altered, again, for plot purposes.

English is not my first language, so I apologize first hand for any grammar or spelling mistake, etc, you'll probably find. If you want to say something about the story, or anything else, please, always be respectful with everyone.

All opinions are very welcomed, especially constructive criticism so, please, try to click the _"Review"_ button down there before leaving :) Without further delay I'll leave you with the story. Here it goes!

* * *

 _ **EMERALD WOMEN**_

* * *

 _"If I cannot bend heaven, I will raise hell"_ \- Virgil.

* * *

 _1443, Meaux._

Not for the first time in her life, Claudette wondered what Hell was like.

Surely, those were not the appropiate thoughts a young lady of 7 like herself should have, but she couldn't help it. Not after hearing the rather vigorous speech the preacher had given during he whole mass. As she followed her mother's back out of the cathedral in her heavy dress, her slightly bent nose —already predicting how hooked it'd become with the passing seasons— wrinkled itself when dirty hands tried to touch them, begging for a coin. Maybe Hell was something as hot as this city they lived in during the summers.

The ride to their _château_ didn't take as long as she had expected, thankfully. The great residence, built out of solid stone, and the land and propriety surrounding it that her family owned was well located near the outskirts of the northern part of the city. It all had been given to her grandfather, the _écuyer_ Jacques de la Trémoïlle, _sieur de_ Meaux, twenty-one years ago during the war by Sir Fortescue, the English Captain of the city who had freed, or condemned, Meaux after the siege. Her grandfather's betrayal of the Bastard of Vaurus had been decesive for the English victory. Some of the common folk spat and cursed their name, some blessed them for the change from the cruel Bastard to the less cruel Captain. Either way, Claudette knew despite her young age who truly had the power. Let the peasants spit all they wanted, if that was any comfort to them. They would be the first to burn too. The preacher, and the bishop, and all of the clergy had said so, she knew. For weren't all men supposed to love their fellow more than themselves?

After a while in which she got bored of needlework, the young lady quietly walked out of her lonely chambers and wandered around home. She found herself suddenly standing in front of the kennel; the hounds immediately lifted their heads, sniffing the air for a moment before quickly losing interest in her. It annoyed her. Claudette could remember the last time her father, Remy, had taken them for a hunt. After coming empty-hand, he had kicked the beasts into their cages and left them no meat or food whatsoever, just water. That was six days ago. Had they not been fed yet? Her curiosity was too much. The weak whimper reached her ears almost like an answer or a call to that question. A few metres from her position, she found a rather large squirrell lying on the ground, quivering and twisting while trying to get on its paws. It had hurt both of its rear legs. For a moment, she doubted. In that moment, she looked over her shoulder and caught glimpse of the hounds, intensely gazing at her while growling a bit and licking their faces. Then, she looked back at the squirrell and bent.

* * *

 _1450, Meaux_

Claudette knew, she was different than any other noble woman. She always had been, even different than other noble children back at the time. Children did not wonder about things like Hell or Heaven, they did not despise the common folk like someone who had already hit adulthood, they did not care if their clothes got stained while playing around, they did not realize what their purpose was. But she had. She had hated to get her dresses stained with mud or else, just as widow colors like black or grey were better suited to her taste. She had despised every time a dirty, peasant's hand reached towards her. And she had always wondered, dreamt even, with the flames and the screams of the sinners as they were punished. Perhaps the most disturbing thing of all of it was that Claudette had not ever minded, not one bit.

Now, at age 14, she was sure her purpose was far more important than simply bearing her future husband's sons. No, it was to bear _his_ sons.

He was not handsome, far from it. Wrinkled, pale, with a hooked nose, already greying hair and small, cold eyes. But she did not fear him nor reject him, because it was like looking into a mirror. True, he was far older and a man. But she was ugly too, she knew; women gossiped and said it. She was cold too, and cynical and implacable. She didn't enjoy the others touch or affection. Just like him. If she should suffer the burden of marriage, who would be better than the Inquisitor Claude Frollo?

A man of God, he considered himself. She supposed he was, in a way. But even someone as committed to Him as Frollo needed power over the mortal humans. Her family name, she was sure, was the first —and possibly the only— thing he first noticed. After uncle Georges died, four years ago, her father was now really close to the royal court of his Majesty, Charles VII. Let her cousin rule over Auvergner, Claudette could be not only the daughter of the possible next _chamberlain_ but also the wife of one of the most powerful among the Inquisition. That closeness to the king was what had led Frollo to her. A marriage would make him look more respectable among the nobility and the common folk; a marriage with her would bring him closer to the royal family, descendants of the Lord and with power over most. He could do great things then. He could truly wipe the streets clean from the filth.

Like most women of her status, she had thought from time to time of her future wedding. They would marry in the cathedral, and most noblemen of the city and the near provinces would be there to criticise and play politics. Not that many people cursed and spat at their family name anymore, not after seeing the family de la Trémoïlle supporting the crown in the endless war against the English. Truth to be told, some regions such as part of the duchy of Bar still hated them with a passion. Still, it wouldn't be a large celebration. Had Claudette had any siblings, they would have attended too, but it wasnt the case.

The maids had already dressed her and prepared her. She tugged at the white fabric, too bright for her liking. It didn't suit her, it didn't make her look any prettier. Claudette was well aware she was too tall to appeal to most men, with rather broad shoulders, small breasts and a waist just faintly narrow, nearly as wide as her equally full hips. _"Meaux beauty"_ , men, women and children alike whispered. _"Perhaps she shoulda been born a man"_ , she had once heard her handmaid tell the cook. Claudette agreed with her. But she was a woman, and she had to make the best of her circumstances, for she knew, He had a plan for her.

At some point, her mother had come into the small chapel within the cathedral she was awaiting in. She found her kneeling, praying. "Don't be afraid, _ma chérie_."

Claudette finished her pray and stood. It wasn't surprising she was about a head taller than her mother. "I'm not."

Her mother had kissed both of her cheeks. "It's time." Then she had squeezed both of her cold hands and left. Not long after, her father came in. The royal court suited him; he had gained weight and he looked more flamboyant than ever. He had kissed her forehead out of courtesy rather than emotion, unlike her mother, then he placed the veil over her face and they walked out.

At the beginning of the day, Claudette de la Trémoïlle had stepped into the cathedral alongside her father. At the end of it, Claudette Frollo had stepped out of it by her husband's side.

* * *

The wedding night had been nothing like the servants usually described. Of course, it wasn't like she longed for such things, but she had expected different from her now husband. He had taken so long to get aroused that Claudette knew it wasn't due to herself. She was convinced that practically any woman lying underneath him would have waited as long as she had.

His touch had been unpersonal, void but not necessarily unkind. It had hurt her less than she had expected as well, but she was relieved to see the stain of blood on the sheet.

For a while they layed in the dark, each of them on their respective side of the bed. Then, she found herself asking, "Where will we go next?"

It wasn't the first time they talked; Claude had already told her about his deceased parents and his younger brother. They had talked about alchemy, philosophy, literature and religion. Both of them had the same views on the world. In one of his visits, before the wedding, Claude had told her he was bound to travel around France from time to time, for the Inquisition moved to where the sinners and heretic hid and roamed.

"Châlons." His deep, aged voice answered. "Whole communities of gypsys have gathered there."

Ah, right; gypsys were the ones her husband hated the most. She hesitated for a moment, then she turned on her side to look at him. Claude had heard and felt the movement, for he turned to look at her as well. She could make out the shilouette of his head.

"We have work to do, then."

* * *

 _1453,_ _Órleans_

" _Here comes the Black Faith"_.

That was the greeting line for them. Every time the inquisitor Claude Frollo and his lady wife, Claudette, rode into a city or town, everyone would whisper it. She liked the ring of it.

Three years of marriage hadn't been enough to produce any children, which was an unexpected blessing for Claudette; her husband, though, cared more for a legacy, which was ironic due to their lack of intercourse. It was in Órleans, when the war seemed to be reaching its end, when her husband first allowed her to attend an interrogation. True to the people's saying, Claude wore his usual black gown and she her favorite black dress. The rosary beads were perfectly interlaced with her long fingers as she stood in the corner of the room, avidly watching with silent fascination. She thought about wearing a black veil next time —for she'd make sure there were a _next time_ —; maybe they would call them the _Black Death_ , then.

After her husband's duties were fulfilled, they made their way out of the room. "Were you not scared, dear wife?" Claude asked her as they walked side by side. "Such things aren't very pleasant to watch for most." They paused at the doorway of his office, facing each other. She was nearly as tall as him, a slightly younger reflection, with a spooky familiarity in their faces and gestures that had made foreigners and peasants mistaken them for twins rather than a married couple more than once.

Claudette had understood then, Claude Frollo was more than destined to her, he was _her_ , what she could've been had she been born a man. She smiled. "Are the Lord's angels scared of the wicked and evil?"

* * *

 _1455,_ _Auvergner_

Her husband was in more than a happy mood today. Claudette knew why; they would soon move to Paris. And more than likely, permanently. She was proud of both, him and her dear father, Remy de la Trémoïlle, new _Grand Chamberlain_ of the rightfully crowned Charles VII, victor of the Hundred Years War. It had been two years since the English were forced out of France and since her father replaced his elder brother as trusted advisor of the king.

Claude was a clever man, indeed. Nearly as clever and twisted as his wife.

They were currently staying at her cousin Louise's state, as they prepared the long journey to Paris. Once there, they would reside in the Palace of Justice. Once there, Claude would be named Minister of Justice. And Claudette would be by his side. The _Dame de Boussac_ , as her cousin still was called, had been her only companion during the summers of her childhood in Meaux. Although the memories she kept of them weren't exactly happy, she could not deny Louise was one of the very few people Claudette found somehow pleasant. This wasn't reciprocate, though; but she cared not.

As Louise and her children bid them farewell and safe journey from the snow and cold winds, she could tell they were all relieved. It amused her to no end.

It was hard for the people to miss them, especially now that it was winter and their black clothes and horses stood out even more from the white landscape.

As the carriage abandoned the city and their personal guards followed, —four at the front, six at the back— Claudette caught the eye of a little boy pointing at them. He was quickly scolded and taken away by his mother. She smiled upon recalling what she had read from his small, cut lips as they moved speaking. _"The Black Death is leaving!"_

* * *

 _1456_ , _Forest of Tronçays, Auvergner_

They had travelled for some months and were now in full spring. It was one of those rare occasions in which both of them were in the mood to ride their own horses. After eating and setting a small camp, they had ventured into the woods, racing each other. They knew none of the guards was bold or stupid enough to leave with the carriage; besides, how would they get more of their coins? Some would stay out of logic, few out of loyalty, and most out of fear of the ex-inquisitor and his wife. So the couple left them be, not worried for their belongings.

Claudette didn't have a clue of what possessed her to challenge her husband. She had no clue why she had asked a race out of him, especially knowing how bad of a horsewoman she was but, surprisingly, he had agreed to humor her, confident of yet another victory.

"Past the largest oak, to the right and back to the stream, my dear." He had said with a predator gleam in his eye, making her nod. On the count of three, both were flying towards the great oak. Of course, he was much faster and skilled. Her husband was already circling the tree he had pointed out when Claudette, a few metres behind, heard a horrifying crack and the loud neigh of the horse. She slowed down her own greyish mare and got off the saddle, next to the oak tree. Slowly, she circled it and found Claude's body, lying unmoving on the ground, face-down, in a pool of his own blood.

At age 20, Claudette Frollo had become not only a widow, but dead as well, after 6 years of happy and uneventful marriage.

* * *

 ** _Disclaimer_ : I don't own The Hunchback of Notre Dame, any of its original characters, its plot, etc. I get no benefits while writing this fanfiction. Any similarity you may find with another fanfic it's just pure coincidence, since I've read lots of them and have got some ideas from them and/or their respective authors.**

 **Any description and mention of monuments, art, organisations, etc, recognisable is truthful and has tried to be reproduced as accurately as possible. Same goes for most historical events and figures.**

 **However, I only own Claudette de la Trémoïlle, her parents and any other OC which has appeared, or will appear.**

* * *

 **A.N/: So that's Part I so far. I will only post once the disclaimer above this author's note.**

 **Hellfire's female cover by Elsie Lovelock, without spaces and brackets:**

 **(/) watch?v=0NhVkDTP8bo**

 **In all honesty, I have no idea when I'll post the second part, in which the rest of canon characters will finally make their appearance, but it will be very soon quite possibly. It will also be rated higher than this first part, with the M that figures in the description.**

 **For now, thank you everyone who has bothered to check this out!**

 **Until next time,**

 **~Se acerca el invierno**


End file.
